Live To Die Another Day
by NeverTellMeTheOdds04
Summary: Harley starts to question her decisions and wonders why she ever allowed herself to be seduced by a clown. Takes place a year after Harley joins the Joker's gang. Rated M as content may get more violent/sexual as chapters progress. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

A cold, stark breeze seeped through the bedroom window and slowly slithered its way towards the bed. Although the room itself was small there was an overwhelming surplus of clutter, every space was occupied by a meaningless piece of furniture, as if someone had attempted to replace the emotional, desolate atmosphere with empty pieces of physical memorabilia.

Despite these desperate efforts the room still felt as vacant and bare as a tomb, an endless void of nothingness.

The breeze expertly manoeuvred its way through the countless barriers before reaching its destination; a silent figure resting on the bed breathing evenly, its body half out of the covers, its back facing the window.

As the breeze came into contact with flesh it immediately disappeared, leaving nothing but a simple shiver and hairs on end. The body itself did not move, although the slight change in temperature did provoke some involuntary reaction, waking the figure from a light, dreamless sleep.

With a slight moan, the woman reached out blindly towards the covers hastily bringing them up to her chin and allowed herself to bury deeper into the bed. Although the winter breeze had woken her she realised subconsciously that the cold would never bother her again. She used to hate the season and all it brought with it; the cold, wet, ice, snow, however this past year had made her adapt, made her hardened to such things.

This past year she had felt the true meaning of cold and compared to that this light wind was a breath of fresh air. Shaking her head in reaction to the darker memories that were now pouring involuntarily into her mind she attempted to clear herself of all thoughts, clawing for the blissful peace of sleep once more.

Just as she was beginning to regain a degree of self-control she heard quiet but distinct sigh of a floorboard, a shadow was approaching. It was silent and subtle, mirroring the breezes' effortless navigation of the room. However, instead of making direct contact it hesitated, hovering over its prey, encroaching her space, but never violating it.

In reaction to this new intrusion the woman's body became deathly still, the blood gradually icing over within her veins as her breathing came to a stop. Time had also come to a standstill; seconds, days, weeks could have passed and yet it seemed that all space and time had coiled itself around this moment, allowing the pain and anticipation to stretch out for an eternity.

This devils dance, this reticent game had become a regular nightly occurrence and yet each time was as intimidating and terrifying as the first. Her passive vulnerability and his overpowering dominance were no more starkly apparent than in these moments and it made her all the more aware of both his un-quenching desire for pain and her helpless inability to resist.

Realising the unnaturalness of her position, knowing the shadow must be aware of her corpse-like demeanour, she purposely breathed out a warm sigh and regulated her respiring and heartbeat to echo a sleeping state. She knew she was conscious, more importantly _he_ knew she was conscious, and yet this little lie that they had both appeared to accept as truth was the only thing keeping her from an unmarked grave.

Time stood still. Only a single droplet of sweat dared to move, falling swiftly from her hairline to her neck, incapable of resisting the heavy force of gravity. Initially condemning the droplet for its betrayal, the woman then recognised that this single droplet reflected her own doomed state. She herself had fallen over the edge and was now unable to fight against the unrestrainable force of insanity.

No sound signified his exit but the room itself seemed to acknowledge it; the ageing, damp furniture creaked in relief as the steady airflow from the window resumed its natural pattern.

Harley did not move, she had neither the desire nor the energy to attempt such a task, but she did give a silent thanks to whoever, if anyone, was listening.

She had lived to die another day.

Unfortunately, she knew deep in her core that fateful day was to come all too soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The cruel irony of it all was that she had always hated clowns. This fear had been cemented in early childhood and had remained with her to this day. Perhaps that was why from their initial meeting she had been unable to resist the pull of the clown's forceful presence. Her senses after their preliminary session had been numbed down by fear as she became the embodiment of a rabbit in the headlights, unable to look away from her impending doom.

Every day since then she had questioned her decisions, the life choices that had led her up to this point of madness, but it was days like this one that she especially resented her actions.

The rain was like ice and it had poured endlessly for the past few hours. The wind was harsh and battered mercilessly against the skin with every droplet creating a sharp, unique pain that travelled along the nerves. Harley had no idea why her appearance was necessary; her makeup was now leaking furiously, more evidence of it was found on the floor rather than on her face, and her ridiculous harlequin getup that she was forced to wear was tightly clinging to her, gradually constricting under contact with water. Looking up to her forehead she could see her jester hat was sinking low, losing all will to continue.

She knew how it felt.

Sighing deeply, watching her breath leak out of her as an icy smoke, Harley took slight comfort in the fact that her fellow henchmen were appearing to be having about as much fun as she was. Their makeup mirrored her own dismal display and their bare arms shivered furiously in the cold, despite their better efforts.

The clown himself seemed unfazed by the weather and stood tall, examining closely the new weaponry that had just been delivered to him. Granted there was a henchman holding a large purple umbrella over his slicked green head but the gales were so forceful that it seemed in her own humble opinion a wasted effort. His purple suit jacket was now glistening in the rain as his dark green shirt clung tightly to his stomach. There were slight cracks in his usual impeccable façade as his own makeup had begun to run, however, his blood red lips now trickled gracefully down his chin and descended towards his neckline, echoing a sinister kind of vampirism. Despite the added makeup his haunting pale complexion never faltered and accentuated a demonic glow, allowing him to retain his intimidating demeanour and echoed his chemical past.

She had to give it to him, not many people could be stood in a deserted open car park situated next to Gotham's port on a stormy winter's evening and still retain an air of dignity and intimidation. The waves were thrashing over the ports barriers and hitting the stagnant cars with tremendous velocity. Many of the men including Harley were simply trying to retain their footing but the clown seemed to let the winds carry him, riding them along the sea front.

Stood next to him while he inspected his latest deal was a much less imposing figure, but an impressive one nevertheless. The man was considerably shorter in height, making up for it instead around his waistline, and was dressed in an expensive black pin-striped suit. His stockiness appeared to keep him weighted down as he was seemingly untroubled by the relentless gales, however he did have obvious difficulty keeping his top hat glued to his head. Topping off this gentlemanly veneer was a white umbrella which he used as a cane and was ultimately symbolic of the Penguin gang.

If it appeared to the naked eye a ridiculous situation, then that was because it _was._ The meeting of two of the greatest criminals that Gotham had the misfortune of harbouring and there they were, bickering in the rain over the price of some faulty machine guns. The Penguin's glasses were now ninety percent covered in spray, half of it a product from the sea and the other half a product from the clown's incessant rants, making them practically useless but that did not seem to bother him, making Harley doubt their true prescription.

But although this location was an impractical meeting spot it was ultimately necessary. There was a recent resurgence by a certain criminal in town that was putting everyone on edge, and this one had the opposite view of 'taking no prisoners'. On the contrary, he took them all prisoner. This vigilante, dubbed Gotham's 'Dark Knight', had been causing considerable mayhem across the city for the past few months and it had sent a shockwave across the criminal underworld.

The Joker was familiar with Batman, as his white translucent skin could testify, and it was due to their constant warfare that enabled the clown to come into contact with a certain Dr Quinzel after being incarcerated in the infamous Arkham Asylum.

 _'_ _Dr Quinzel…I live for these moments with you…'_

The memory of days long past awoke a part of her that she had long since buried, a part of her that was weak, vulnerable, and hopelessly in love with a clown. It wasn't that those feelings had died, on the contrary her body's reaction to these sudden recollections confirmed the opposite, but the Joker's behaviour outside of the Asylum had slowly dissipated her love and patience, instead filling her to the brim with pain and resentment.

In the Asylum _she_ was the centre of his world, or at least had been led to believe she was, and it was his unrelenting devotion and allure that had captured her soul and enchanted her. She had never felt such a connection to another being and it was this novelty that had convinced her that she was in love. Well, at least that part _was_ true. But the Joker's true feelings, or lack of them, were fully revealed to her after his escape, which she had helped to arrange, through his subsequent denial and disregard of her and their love.

It was as if he had become another person and had blatantly refused to acknowledge her or even look her way without either sickening with disgust or dealing her a world full of pain. But it wasn't these moments that ripped her in half, that cut her the deepest, at least in those moments he had recognised her as a person, an entity.

But most of the time she was invisible to him, a figure in an endless array of loyal followers, and he would look over her without a single recognition of their past courtship. It was these moments that hurt the most. You would think wearing a black and red jester's costume would get a girl noticed, but if there was one thing she had mastered it was to embrace her own insignificance.

The first half of the year had been the worst, the Joker had been unsatisfied following his lavish escape against the odds and was bored with the mundaneness of Gotham's streets. The Dark Knight had disappeared and his world was reduced to nothing but dealing with petty criminals and ripping off mob dealers.

But then the Bat returned and all was right with the world.

The beatings and harsh words had become less frequent and he even had a slight jump in his step. This had in turn made her happier, though she felt ashamed at her own disappointment at the loss of those brief contacts with the clown, no matter at what price they came. The Joker had yet to come into contact with the Bat, but others were being picked off one by one, and word on the street was that he was next.

The anticipation was palpable and the preparations for Phase One had begun.

Both Harley, and Dr Quinzel in her time, had never understood his overwhelming fascination with the Bat or the visible light he brought back into the Joker's life. Maybe it was the excitement of the chase, the threat of a worthy adversary, or simply the shift from the ordinary, but no matter how much people speculated they would never understand what goes through a madman's mind.

Looking back at their brief courtship it occurred to Harley that her pathetic attempts to capture the clown's heart were futile, it had already been taken, and that realisation had made her feel lower than she ever thought was possible.

Waking from her daydream by raised voices, Harley noticed a scuffle commencing between the two lords of crime. The Joker had the Penguin in a chokehold, holding a pistol to his head while pushing him forcefully against a rusted van. All members of both gangs immediately sprang into action and were now holding each other down at gunpoint and/or knifepoint, keenly waiting for the first move to be made.

Harley rolled her eyes in frustration, this was not how she imagined spending her Sunday evenings, and after her abrupt trip down memory lane she was keen to nip this session in the bud as soon as possible.

Striding to the centre of the commotion she ignored the several guns that were now targeted at her head, she had to admit the large jester hat did make her an incredibly easy target, and grabbed onto the first wooden crate she could find. Lifting it to her chest, with a slight struggle considering how heavy the contents were, she turned and squinted against the rain until she spotted the two men that were causing all the fuss.

"Just take the bloody guns will ya boss?"

A silence ensued, with only the thunderstorm continuing to rage above them, as the clown now slowly but deliberately turned to face her. She could feel the bodies around her take an intake of breath, waiting for the inevitable bloody scene that was about to play out in front of them. The Joker kept a firm grip upon the Penguin's throat but managed to throw Harley a look that could have easily chocked the life out of her too.

Immediately regretting her impulsive actions, she nervously attempted to diffuse the situation, "Look we've all had a long day, it's bloomin' pissing it down, and haven't you fella's got more important things to do, like catching a certain Bat?"

She thought she had made a valid point but silence ensued once again. The reactions she received from both criminals were blank, probably wondering what the hell the woman was thinking. To be honest, she didn't entirely know herself.

The clown cocked his head slightly, eyeing the jester before him; his expression mirrored genuine attempts of recollection, trying to place a name to the creature standing before him and, as if suddenly remembering who she was, allowed a wide, maniacal grin to spread across his face.

Shoving his adversary into the van once again, managing to succeed in knocking the top hat off his bloated head, the Joker stepped forward playing with the gun in his right hand while his left twitched repeatedly at his side. She noticed that he often repeated that motion when he was musing, no doubt trying to decide her fate.

Placing the wooden crate down carefully, wary not to make any sudden movements, she stood back up straight and crossed her arms, suddenly aware of both her vulnerability but also how figure hugging her costume had become. The Joker didn't seem to notice however; he didn't let his potent gaze shift for a second away from her face dissecting every muscle movement, every involuntary twitch, deciding his next move.

Stopping abruptly mid-step, the clown inhaled deeply and lifted his hands towards his head gently smoothing back his fluorescent green hair. Closing his eyes, he seemed to relish in the present situation; the storm, the theatrics, the anticipation of the kill, and Harley was reminded of a more familiar Joker, the carefree comic she had learned to love. His smooth, tight white skin was clearly visible now, as his shirts never left much to the imagination, and although soaked through she thought he had never looked so majestic, so beautiful.

That was until in one single motion he directed his gaze, and weapon, towards her shivering form.

Harley saw that the gun was now pointed directly between her stark blue, panicked eyes and realised this was it, her big moment had come. She had hoped it would be for something more substantial than this but then again a death this meaningless suited her love's irrational and impulsive nature.

Surrounded now, embodied within a circle of henchmen like a wild doe thrown into a pit with a lion, she embraced her end.

The clown released the safety of the gun and let out a low chuckle, "Any last words my dear?" These words came out almost like a purr, showing her a single moment of kindness before the pounce, teasing her with a side to him that she had never had the fortune to discover.

 _I love you?_ These words were brief in her mind, but as soon as they had appeared she doubted their validity. Was it true that she loved him? After all the hurt, the pain, the heartbreak, was she really readyto forgive and forget everything and give him one final victory?

Knowing the answer before she had time to register it, she was about to say the words when a black figure got caught in her peripheral vision. Lifting her head above the men in front of her she saw a familiar, dark shape gliding silently towards the crowd, another predator about to attack his prey.

Allowing a smile to cross her face, she felt relief course through her. Facing her fatal infatuation once again she let out an involuntary giggle, much to her own surprise and the clown's amusement.

"Yeah Mr J, I have something to say," she began giving a small cough, allowing herself to relax slightly and embracing the new found confidence surging within her, "I _was_ going to say the boring old 'I love you' but instead I'm going for another statement just as true, if I was you I would start looking up, because baby _the jokes on you."_

Giving one last wink she looked up into the rain with arms outstretched ready to embrace her saviour, but to her shock and dismay he had vanished.

Her crowd of ardent listeners also craned their necks, in search of some unknown presence, but instead were merely greeted with familiar grey skies and droplets of rain clouding their vision.

Appearing slightly dumbfounded but amused by this little display of retaliation, the Joker smirked as he once again aimed towards the jester's head. Lifting his free hand, he waved "Bye, bye!" and pulled the trigger tightly letting the ever so familiar reaction of the gunshot fill his senses, releasing a brief but well known high, as the bullet left its container.

In these milliseconds, all Harley could do was curse the Bat's existence. If it wasn't for him she wouldn't be in this mess; she wouldn't have met the Joker, she wouldn't be in this bloody car park, and she definitely wouldn't have been let down once again by the Bat's own incompetency to save her life.

Unable to look away she watched the bullet crawl towards her as it was about to reach its final destination, the unavoidable scenario of metal meeting flesh.

It was in that moment that the world suddenly went black and she felt a violent force shove her backwards off her feet towards the concrete. The sensation of falling was all too familiar to her and she welcomed it; she had fallen into madness, now she would fall to her death.


End file.
